


self indulgent drivel

by sprinklyzucchini



Series: vaguest assassin AU [1]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Assassin AU, F/F, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Genderswap, Marijuana usage, POV Second Person, Zuko POV, vague af plot and narrative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 05:49:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10633539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sprinklyzucchini/pseuds/sprinklyzucchini
Summary: zuko rolls a Depression J after making a big fucky decision; if anything confuses y'all just take it in stride bc idk anything either





	

**Author's Note:**

> should I just start a series where I put up fic written in varying degrees of inebriation bc i'm high af rn and apparently munchies aren't my only impulse problem.
> 
> Oh and this was entirely written on the notes app on mobile. comfort zones don't exist,

The thing is, grounding or meditation or even strong tea, doesn't always work. 

You don't particularly care that you're resorting to pot ~~again~~ to calm yourself instead - but if you did, then that'd be a good justification.

It's bad timing, but you also don't want to care about that. 

 

Compressed leaves crumbling between fingertips, nails accumulated with muddy green.

You sigh. Crushing is universally the most boring part of preparing a joint, but you'd always found it soothing. 

But now, the memory of their fingers - long and spindly and sometimes adorned with fake blue nails  - meticulously picking out seeds and sweeping in the strays from the sides of the paper, drown out the monotony you'd always welcomed. Their voice high with laughter, smoke curling out of and around painted lips (they claimed it didn't distract them from rolling) as they narrated yet another incident in their part time job in the piercing parlour. Quips about their _actual_ job - both of your actual jobs - delivered offhand with a snicker; only quips though, not like you were at liberty to discuss just anything when you were supposed to be rivals.

Or well, from rival underworld factions, at least.

The thought makes your chest ache. 

 

You're pinching unbleached rolling paper around the roach, and you're dismayed that you can still feel your finger pressing on a trigger instead.

Four hours since you last saw them, and four weeks before that. Was it wrong to think they looked beautiful framed by crosshairs? 

 

 _You couldn't even last three minutes before you were methodically dismantling your rifle, and your career, and packing up to leave with a cold clench in your gut. Mai sounded frantic and exasperated on the earpiece, and you'd switched her off - fuck up number two? two thousand? you didn't know you didn't have_ time _to guilt over putting your friend into a sticky situation (but you would, and soon)_

_Your scalp had prickled with the friction of the heavy woollen beanie, and there was sweat caked under your 'mask'._

 

Your scalp is prickling uncomfortably now, and you're ashamed at the way your immediate thought is to call for Sokka to massage it away. 

You're ashamed at the way you're still used to them, even though it has been over a month.

You twist and tear off the remaining paper on top, and waste no time lighting and sucking in from your hastily-rolled joint. Its crackle and hiss echo in your ears, the subsequent heavy smoke filling your lungs, heaviness filling your head, already present in your heart.

 

_Jeong Jeong had given you a Look as you scrambled into the back of his borrowed truck, and you'd muttered out the information provided by your uncle, steadily avoiding eye contact._

_Chey had been sat in the back, putting together documents, and it was eerie how silent he remained throughout the ride._

_Throughout the ride, you'd run over and over several things. Ways in which you let your faction down, the several contingency plans to ensure Sokka and Suki's protection in case (when) you bailed, the ways you'd probably lost Sokka all over again._

____________

Four hours later, you are in what you'd immediately recognised as Jet's dingy apartment, with the man himself nowhere to be seen.

That's okay. You didn't want to see anyone anyway; the stash he'd left you was more than satisfactory welcome.

As you sit now, shaky hands bringing the tapered filter to your lips, you think about how you were _so_ close to killing them. 

You feel some satisfaction that after a month of separation and threats from Ozai, you'd stuck a wrench in his plan after all. 

You rub the hardened tissue underneath your left eye, wishing you didn't imagine the white-hot pain searing across your eye in the shape of your family crest, didn't imagine Sokka's careful stoic face behind Ozai's, didn't imagine them crying over your burnt, barely-conscious body in the hospital bed.

You fail. Take a drag.

Before you realise it, you're halfway down the joint, and sorely missing the company you usually prefer for things like this. Your head is pleasantly heavy and light at the same time, still filled with all the frantic thoughts that had been plaguing you - but more muted, like a blanket thrown over them - and as you recline on the shitty three-going-on-two inch mattress it's so comfortable you don't want to leave.

Might as well get that night of sleep you're supposed to get two days in hiding for. The digital clock on the... pile, beside the bed, reads 2 AM. Pretty early...

_____________

_**Buzzzzz.** _

You open an eye groggily, not appreciating the vibration next to your head. You pry the cheap temporary flip phone out from somewhere in your duvet - eager to see just who could have contacted this number and thus used it up.

Your body is sluggish, the remnants of the high still in your bloodstream. You blink at the message icon lighting up on the tiny screen. 

The number is listed as unknown.

You know it could be anyone, and you hate yourself a little for wishing it was someone in particular. Just to let you know that they're okay, and then no contact needed forever. 

You think you could manage. 

Your chest is shriveling up and stuff, but you think you really could. 

Your thumb hovers over the 'select' button in hesitation.

_[12:33 PM] Gas station by the Silver Sandwich 5 PM. Don't finish his stash, jerk <3/_

**Author's Note:**

> yea I know I actually wrote silver sandwich lolllllll


End file.
